2nd August
Forenoon watch


In the day since the ultimately disappointing encounter with the pirate ship, Chase and his mates had scarcely had time to think. All had been work. Endless bloody work, punctuated only by brief periods of rest during which the cook served cold burgoo and ship's biscuit, and the master's mate of the watch stood over the rum tub doling out each man's allotted ration. These were bolted down as quickly as humanly possible, then it was back topside and aloft to resume their work.

Splicing torn rigging, bending fresh sails, patching damaged ones, swaying up a new mainyard, and countless other smaller tasks that needed seeing to before Rose could weigh anchor. Doubtlessly she would receive more thorough refit in Jamaica but for now it was sufficient to get her patched up enough to enable her to sail with most of her usual grace and ability.

Fortunately, it seemed the exhausted crew would soon have a more proper respite. The new mainyard lay on the larboard gangway, looking oddly bare without any of its gear. It wouldn't be very long before the orders were passed for men to turn out at their appropriate stations to send the yard up. For Chase, this meant staying on the weather deck, where he would lend his strength to the lines which would haul the heavy yard up to its allotted place on the mast.

"Be glad when we're ashore again," Chicken Dyer grumbled, scowling at the sheet he was splicing.

Chase shrugged. "Just glad we ain't at the bottom like those unlucky buggers is."

That was nothing but a damned shame. Losing their prize to the depths had been a hard blow. Even if they would have had to share the bounty with the Frogs. It would have been a fine feather in their ship's cap to have brought the pirate ship into harbour as a prize. Destroying her was a miserable second to that, but they'd have to be content with it.

Much of the work his mast crew had done involved rigging the gear that was needed to send up the new mainyard. Up and down tackles were hooked in place on the yard, jeers were rove and brought to the capstan, and a temporary truss of a runner and tackle rigged up. There was a lot of work to be done but Boyles' lads attended it with a will. They had not been afforded the opportunity to mourn the fellows who'd lost the numbers of their messes, but that would come later, when they were back in Kingston.

"Mind yer footin', Brice," Boyles admonished, when a topman nearly trod over a neatly coiled line. All was nearly ready for the new yard to be sent up and if he was honest, Boyles was eager for it to be finished. He felt partially responsible for the old yard's failing, even though the job of managing the standing and running rigging was not his responsibility, but the boatswain's. The damage had been done to his mast and that made him feel as though he was to blame for it.

The piercing shriek of pipes rent the air, commanding the attention of every man on the weather deck. Boyles glanced aft. It must be time. Hopefully. The officers were all gathered at the quarterdeck rail, looking somewhat scruffy in their sea-going uniforms. Little sense in ruining their best rigs, Boyles supposed. The battle was over anyway.

"Hands to stations for sending up the yard!" Came the shouted order.

The response from the crew was immediate. Unnecessary clutter was quickly cleared away and men hurried to their assigned stations. For Boyles, this meant going aloft to help supervise the work and lend a hand if necessary. He swung himself easily onto the main shrouds and went up. Already, the strain of the long hours was fading, for they were nearly ready to put to sea again.

Ned was breathing hard when he returned to the deck and moved with care to the side of the officers. Holding up a tray with hot tea in the cups he waited at the side for the officers that were standing issuing orders to take there cups.

‘Not now boy. We are about to send up the Yard!’

As cabin boy, Ned was often in the middle of such things, the Captains Steward had sent him up with a cup of tea for the Captain, and his growled instructions had been.
‘Make sure you put it in his hand, he’s not stopped since yesterday, and he needs a drink!’

And now the other officers had to be served too, he couldn’t go back down and give back four cups untouched.

Quietly without making a fuss, he stood back but only after he had moved around to the other side of the officers so all knew he was there with a drink for them, then waited watching the activity on the deck, his hands holding the tray steady despite his young age, ready for any that turned and decided they would manage a drink after all.

With eyes as big as saucers he watched the men below, as always amazed at what they could do with such heavy weights, one day that would be him, he would be down there, as strong as an ox, and working as a ‘ real man’.

Grigoriy turned to Brice who was working at his side and tutted to show his disappointment that an old tar like Brice had needed to be told.

’ TUT TUT TUT’

Over exaggerating the Tut and shaking of his head at his friend having needed a reprimand, then he gave Brice a wink and a grin showing he was teasing.
The Russian sailor was known as a good worker and a friendly guy who had worked for a long while aboard the ship and knew the men who worked alongside him well too, he was a hard worker, and a credit to his position.

Brice took the teasing, but laid a punch to Grigoriy’s arm, who laughed more at his friends response, but Brice then took more care and ‘ minded his foot’, both men were good sailors, and not ones to disobey or disrespect their superiors.

‘Mind your FUUTinkt’’
Grigoriy repeated the instruction, but in doing so his Russian accent changed the words slightly, something he knew his friend found funny, and strange. Brice grinned back, laughing softly at his friend’s accent. In this friendly atmosphere they worked hard as they did all the time, he didn’t mind his friends teasing him on his accent or language, but if anyone else laughed in hate at his Russian heritage or his family he showed his fierce side.

When the order came for 'hands to all stations for sending up the yard', Grigoriy smartly finished off the job he was on, then turned and followed the other topmen upwards, climbing nimbly with confidence, to his allotted station, awaiting the call for the men to begin work.

The necessary gear lay in their appropriate places on the gangway and deck, ready to be rigged when the yard was swayed up enough to permit it. Boyles had by now reached the maintop platform and peered over the nettings, waiting for the next in what would be a series of orders regulating this particular venture.

"Stand by on the lifts and braces!"

Even as he watched, the burton and yard purchase were checked one last time to ensure they were properly set. These would control and support the yard as it was swayed up, and so had to be in order.

"Sway aloft!"

The men on deck heaved, taking all the strain of the yard's weight on the lifts and braces, and succeeding almost at once in raising the mainyard into the air. Once it was judged sufficiently elevated, the order was given to hold and previously-designated men hurried to rig up the yard's gear.

Boyles glanced at the topmen crowded onto the mast platform with him. "Won't be long now," he told them. Not with this crew, certainly. These lads knew their business as sailors.

"Lifts and braces, sway aloft!"

Up it came, ready to be secured to the mast. Some well-timed adjustments to the lifts saw the yard squared, then the fore-and-aft tackle was slacked away. This would be the difficult part, Boyles thought, but his lads would be keen to ensure that this yard did not come loose like the previous one had.

Shouted orders rang out tinnily from below, as the officer giving them was using a speaking trumpet. In short order, the parrel was passed, the lifts secured, and the burtons taken off. Now it was down to the work of reeving reef-tackles and maintops'l sheets. Boyles set his men to the task, keeping a weather eye on them as they went about it.


On reeving ; Reef-tackles and other gear

The ships repairs wer coming along nicely...slow, but nice. Each man had a job to do, and some of them had several in a row. Sails needed attention, but before the sails could be rehung in all their properness, the stays and masts needed to be inspected. Which meant, of course, that the base of the masts needed to be investigated and that lead to looking at the structure and integrity of the ship. The pirate's cannons had not sunk the English "Rose" but there was some damage.

It was Mister Greenwood's position that the ship couldn't sail properly if the structure and hull had such damage and that had to be repaired first. What point was there to catch the wind, if the wind would just steer them downwards. Today was not the day to find a shark and make it a pet.

The problem was that Sailing Master was at constant odds with the Carpenter. Certainly, Marion was only the man of navigation and such, but he did have some leeway. The Carpenter seemed more interested in the upper decks, while Marion was convinced the weight of the ship was a major concern. How does a ship get heavier? It takes on water!

"Just please, check out the hull and humor me." Marion pleaded again.
"And I will, as soon as the mast is finished." The Carpenter repeated.
"But don't you need a base for the mast to pressure against? While you're there just check the interior for leaks and cracks, please." The Sail Master continued.
"Sail Master Sir. If you would go back to your maps and sun toys and let me do my job, the sun might just rise tomorrow." The Carpenter finally ended the conversation before walking away. Marion just shook his head.

"The sun will rise tomorrow, but it wont mean anything if were sailing underwater." Greenwood called out to have the last word in the argument. If there was one thing you could count on, it was that Marion would have the last say, even if he was wrong. The last word, the last glance, what have you.

Then the young cabin boy passed by with a tray full of tea. Marion grinned and a sudden thought passed over him. With all the crew working on other important matters, Ned would be the one he would rely on.
"Ahh, wee Ned. Good to see you. I'll take one of those." A cup of tea was picked from the tray and held daintily before a small sip.
"Did you make this? This is quite nice. Compliments." He flashed a daring smirk while raising his cup slightly in honor of the boy.
"Perhaps you are the perfect man for a job I need doing. If, of course, you have the free time. I'd hate to pull you away from anything pressing." He winked with confidence to make the young man feel comfortable.

Ned responded like most 11 year olds, ( even if he was pretending to be older) his smile came to show, and he felt a punch in his chest of pride, that someone had said something positive about him, and another punch of happiness that another cup was empty of tea so the Cook wouldn’t be scolding him on his return.

‘Yes Sir. I’m free Sir. As soon as I return the tray. What do you need Sir?’

With big eyes looking upwards at the Sailing Master, his shoulders back, stretching his young height to as tall as he could like he did each day, standing pretty much to attention in his stance to be seen as older than he was and twice as serious so no one considered him a child.

Heave. That was Chase's sole purpose for this particular task. Heave on the weather maintops'l brace until the order was passed to hold. Fortunately, with the topmen above them working swiftly, it did not take long until the new yard was made fast to the mast. With this done, the focus of the crew's efforts became the maincourse, which was laid out across the waist by the sailmaker and his crew.

"We'll be home agin 'fore we knows it," Chicken Dyer remarked cheerfully.

Chase nodded. "Aye. Then it'll be ashore to get our land-legs back!"

"Cease talking, there!" A boatswain's mate snapped.

The two foretopmen smirked at each other but fell silent. There was no further time for conversation anyway. The orders to send up the sail was being shouted from the quarterdeck and men were hurrying to obey. This new sail would be bent on in fairly short order, Chase judged, and then Rose could put back to sea.

"Aloft, mainyard men! Man the yardarm jiggers, buntlines, and leechlines!"

Chase and Dyer had since shifted to stand by the weather mainsheet, which they would either heave at or slake down, depending on what the officer of the watch intended. They watched the men in the maintop as the great sail was hauled upward. It was like the ship was being made whole again before their eyes.

It was a good feeling.

Everything was ready that Boyles could see. His best lads were at their stations, one each at either yardarm and two in the middle of the yard, with the others spread out along the yard. He was draped partially over the newly-secured yard, ready to work alongside his lads.

"Haul taut! Sway aloft! Haul out and bring to!"

The new maincourse was rising steadily toward them. Boyles glanced at the topman arrayed along the yard and said, "Make it smart, lads."

Not that they needed any telling. They knew their business. Equally, they knew the importance of doing this job correctly. The work of bending the sail to the yard did, therefore, go smoothly. Every man on the yard worked with the brisk competence of seasoned sailors. It didn't take long at all before the new sail was in place, ready to be cast loose to catch the wind.

This was, it seemed, all that the officers below had been waiting for. Boyles and his lads had only begun heading down the shrouds to the deck when orders were being passed to weigh anchor. The weather deck was a chaos of activity, with men clearing away tools and now-unneeded stores, jostling against other men who were scurrying to collect the capstan bars from where they were stowed.

Boyles felt a grin come onto his face as he went to his station for unmooring. The sooner they got underway again, the better. There were wounded men below who needed to be given over to proper surgeons in Kingston. The ship could also get a survey from the dockyard's master shipwright, who would, with any luck, be able to order the necessary repairs. Just so long as Rose was fit for sea again soon.